


On Their Way

by Kaiyoz



Series: Life Rolls On... The Series [3]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Bruce is awesome, Child Abuse, Child Abuse References, Clint Has Issues, Foster Care Clint, Gen, Kidnapping, More tags later, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyoz/pseuds/Kaiyoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Bruce go on an adventure... which turns into a misadventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of a series, I recommend you read the previous stories to be fully aware of where you are starting for this one.
> 
>  
> 
> PS: I have never been to New Mexico nor do I have more than a basic understanding of particle physicists.

Bruce snapped the lid closed on his last bit of research and passed it over to Clint for him to put a label on. Over the past two days they had been slowly packing up Bruce’s research together. 

Clint skipped to the door, loaded down with a backpack full of books. They had been hanging around the campus early, eating breakfast together and going to visit the pond before starting the laborious task of packing Bruce’s notes and papers. 

“Can you go stack this one outside the door?” Bruce asked. Clint nodded, grabbed the box and dashed for the door. The swinging door slammed open and swung closed. Bruce sighed when he heard a crash down the hall, and jogged after his wayward charge. He hoped the boy hadn’t run into the wall again. 

He had thought Clint just fell but when he turned the corner he saw a man stumbling to his feet beside Clint. The blonde was shaking, climbing to his feet and trying to shuffle the box full of papers back together. 

“What are you doing?” one of the vice-chancellor’s of MIT growled, helping the man that had been on the floor dust off. 

“I’m sorry, Vice-Chancellor Hasting,” Bruce said, coming to a stop in front of Clint. “He’s my assistant today, running my stuff to the door for the Sandia trip.”

The mention of the Sandia Lab took the sour look off the man’s face, Sandia was handing over a lot of money for Bruce’s research and time, which generated revenue and notoriety for the university. 

“Well, keep the kid from running around like a crazed....”

“It’s all right, boys will be boys and all that,” the dark haired man that had been knocked down in the first place said with a wide grin. “You all right, kid?”

Clint was still frozen behind him but the boy quietly answered, “Yeah... Sorry.” 

“All… right, then... Kids are weird.” The man had obviously expected more out of Clint.

He turned to Bruce. “Tony. Tony Stark. And I didn’t mean to say that in a “James. James Bond” sort of way. You were… in the lab a while back? What are the odds? Working on anti-electron collision still?” The younger man’s sunglasses slid to the end of his nose and he ran his eyes across Bruce and the silent statue behind him. 

Bruce held out his hand, remembering the loud man from the math lab. “I can run the numbers on the odds for you. And I am still working on anti-electron collision. Dr. Bruce Banner, physics department.”

Tony nodded. “Interesting. Send me something when you’re done.”

Tony’s hand waved out, pointing down the hallway. “This way, Hastings? This way looks interesting! How much longer are you supposed to keep me “occupied” until the board is ready? This is why I don’t show up to things on time. I have an appointment with a couple of ski bunnies in the Poconos and…”

Tony strode away, Hastings struggling to keep up. 

“And he thinks I’m weird?” Clint whispered.

~*~

At the dentist the next day Clint had more fillings put in. They had steadily given him more fillings until his teeth were starting to normalize from years of non treatment. 

“I still need you to stop chewing on the inside of your lips and cheeks. If you go any deeper Clint, you’ll need stitches.” The boy nodded, trying to keep from pulling his cheek between his teeth again. The dentist was hovering right over his head and the only reasons he was still in the chair was Bruce’s hand on his ankle. 

Clint rinsed and spit, idly rubbing his new teeth with the tip of his tongue. 

~*~

Bruce admitted that he was using Clint to pack up for their trip, using his remarkable memory anyway. Clint remembered where things were with a frightening accuracy. 

Bruce knew that Clint could find anything in the fridge simply from memory, and Bruce, the forgetful professor, only had to ask, “Where is the lemon juice?” for Clint to answer, “Second shelf, left side, behind the orange juice. Green bottle.” He was putting that to use in packing his things. Clint was a nosey little booger and he’d looked through most of Bruce’s things over the past few months, enough that when Bruce asked if Clint had seen his leather gloves, Clint had known where they were, even if it was on the top shelf of the coat closet, a place he had never had cause to go.

“My sandals?” 

Clint dove into his closet and came out with one sandal and then underneath the bed to come up with the second. 

“If you knew those were separated why didn’t you put them together?” Bruce wondered, stuffing them in his bag. 

“Thought that’s where you wanted them,” Clint answered, sitting on Bruce’s bed. 

Bruce smirked. “I probably wouldn’t have found them anyway.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Clint agreed. 

“Very funny, Sprocket,” Bruce laughed. “My green button up shirt? I swore it was hung up yesterday.”

“It’s kind of ugly… you sure you want it?” Clint asked with a little smile. 

Bruce held back the urge to cuff Clint around the head, and instead stuck his tongue out at the boy and pointed towards the closet. 

~*~

Bruce was never happier to get on the road as he was at that moment. Clint had been excited to get going and Bruce was happy to finally be doing some serious research in New Mexico. 

He had packed Clint’s clothes, Nerf gun, and school work. He actually was pretty excited himself, it felt a bit like taking a family vacation. They hadn’t managed to find the time yet but now they were flying across the country for a six week trip, if things went according to plan. 

Bruce had arranged for Clint to stay in the day-care provided while Bruce was working. While Clint was technically old enough to stay by himself it made his adoptive father way too nervous. Instead he signed Clint up at New Mexico University’s day care center. His laboratory had sent him up with a small apartment at NMU and he was afforded all the accommodation of a student at NMU. It was the Sandia National Laboratory and Bruce finally had a chance to test some non-nuclear aspects of his research. 

The plane tickets were bought and Clint was excited and painfully nervous. The boy had been being prepped through social stories and exposure to handle the crowds of the airport and the crush of people in the airplane. He had managed to get an early boarding pass for them and they were almost ready to go. He struggled to snap the bag closed over it s bulging contents.

He looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Clint? You have your carry-on packed?”

The boy nodded, bringing his heavy backpack out and carefully unpacking it. He was kind of stunned how much the boy had managed to get into the bag. “I have my toothbrush and an extra set of clothes. My blanket, my coloring book, my purple socks, and my journal are all in here. So is my puzzle book.”

Recently Clint had gotten into mind puzzles, like Sudoku and word jumbles, anything that took a bit of thinking to figure out. Clint was also into tangrams and liked to make pictures. He was thrilled his kid was cheap to entertain. 

He carefully repacked everything, Bruce was mystified how one little kid managed to get all that into one bag. Without prompt the little boy opened Bruce’s bag and repacked it. Bruce gave Clint a suspicious smile as the bag easily closed. 

“You’re sneaky.”

Clint shrugged, “Years of packing my stuff.”

Bruce looked around his apartment one more time, they’d be back in a few weeks but he was nervous about leaving not only his comfort zone but Clint’s. He had traveled all over the world but not being near Clint’s doctor, therapist, and social worker made him anxious. 

“Okay, our bags are by the door. Dishes are done. Garbage is out. Plants are on loan. We ready?”

“Yeah!” Clint said with a giant grin. He heard a faint honk and knew their car was here to take them to the airport. Clint grabbed his huge purple duffle, now tied with a giant silver bow, and started to drag it down the hall. Bruce picked up his own bright green bag and locked up the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

On the ride to the airport, Clint’s leg began to bounce more and more. “Are you scared or excited?” Bruce questioned. 

“Both… I think.” 

“Just remember, in the airport, no one is looking at you. They want to get where they are going and aren’t worried about you. Stay with me and you will be okay.”

They got out onto the bustling sidewalk outside Logan International Airport. 

Clint muttered, “I’m okay. I’m okay,” as they pressed past crowds of people on the way into the airport. They checked in and made it through security before Bruce saw Clint starting to fray a little. He’d been scanned, jostled, and brushed this morning and it was taking its toll. 

He guided Clint to a bathroom and let him have some silent time, even if it was in the bathroom. They made it in plenty of time to the gate and he could see Clint was still plenty anxious. 

“Are you sure they won’t lose our bags?” Clint asked again. 

“I don’t think they will. They don’t lose things a lot but it does happen. That’s why we don’t put things that are irreplaceable in the bag. Even if it does get lost we’ll be okay and get you new stuff, the airport will pay for it.”

Clint nodded. “What does “irrepcarable” mean?”

“Irreplaceable? It means something that can’t be bought again. Like your journal or a special picture… speaking of which.”

Bruce looked around and reached out to touch a person walking by them. “Hi, could I bother you to take a picture of us real quick?”

The woman nodded and took Bruce’s camera, snapping photo of the two waiting at the gate. He showed Clint the picture, he had splurged on a digital camera recently and the boy loved to see his own photos. Bruce was smiling openly and beside him he could see a shy boy, hands twisted together, looking out from beneath his bangs with a small smile. 

Walking up to the check in, Clint was bouncing beside him. He could see the planes taking off and taxying out on the runway. 

“Are we… Is that it?” Clint asked, pointing out the window at a plane driving by. 

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, looking out at the planes. 

The lady checking on their ticket pointed out the window next to them with a already parked plane. “That is the one you’ll be taking Mr. Banner,” she said looking at Clint. “It’s fueling up.”

The boy nodded and walked a few feet away to stare out the window. 

Bruce joined him once they were ready. “You ready?” Bruce asked. 

“It’s a lot bigger than I thought…” Clint murmured. 

“Does that make it better?” he asked, looking at the boy.

Clint shrugged, Bruce snapped a candid photo of Clint leaning against the glass and staring out at the plane. 

He snapped a few more photos, making the little boy turn and pose. He laughed when Clint still looked shyly at the camera. 

Eventually the early boarding call came and Clint queued up with Bruce, clinging to his arm the whole time. They made their way down the gangway and the boy started to breathe heavier. Inside they were on a row towards the back and he put Clint near the window, the young man had gone oddly still. Bruce pressed Clint’s pencil into his hand and put paper down in front of him. He angled the air to blow on Clint and hoped the boy would relax. 

Then came the crush of people that heralded the loading of the plane and Clint focused on writing carefully in his journal. His therapist had given him an assignment that everyday he would write about something new or fun he did and how he felt about it. The seats around them jostled and an older man took the seat right next to Bruce, they exchanged brief pleasantries before the safety spiel started and the plane started to taxi.

“Where do the air masks come from?” Clint asked. “And how does my seat make a floatie? I can’t swim.”

Bruce pointed where the air masks would come from, told him that he would just pick his seat cushion up, and pointed towards the doors and explained how they would get out. 

“Just focus on your drawing and you’ll be fine. The engines are going to engage and you’ll feel a rumbling, and then the plane is going to go really fast, like when we speed up on the freeway, then the plane will take off.”

The boy nodded and looked out the window. The plane started to move, things passing the window. It towed around for a bit before the engines revved and the plane lurched forward, the world went whipping by before suddenly lifting and they were gone. 

“Wow,” Clint whispered, giving the other man a huge grin. “We… we’re flying.” He looked back out the window as the plane banked. 

“Look! Your work!” Clint said pointing out distantly at what was probably MIT, Bruce couldn’t tell even with his glasses on. 

“Remind me to get your vision checked,” Bruce muttered. That kid could spot an M&M on the ground from three stories up. 

Clint looked at him, “We get cookies right?”

Bruce nodded. 

His fears that Clint would be frightened in the air were for nothing. The boy was in heaven. The sights enraptured him as they flew across the land. He loved ordering a soda and some cookies. They hit an air pocket and the plane shuddered, a woman ahead shrieked and Clint quietly laughed. When they started to land Clint let out a little ‘woo hoo’ at touch down, he seemed to think of the entire thing as a giant roller coaster. Was his boy a secret daredevil? God, he hoped not. Then he thought about it, the boy used to swing from trapeze, shoot arrows, apparently sometimes while standing on horseback, and flip and tumble with the best of them. 

They waited until the plane was all but empty before getting off. Clint carried his overly large backpack and extra packet of cookies the attendant had slipped him. 

At the exit a young grad student met them, a little sign saying ‘Dr. Banner’ got his attention.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Banner and this is my foster son Clint.” 

“Wow!” she said with unabashed shock. “They said you were young but I hadn’t… anyway, um, my car is this way.”

“We need our bags,” Clint said looking out from beneath the brim of his MIT ball cap. The crush of crowds lessened as people wanted to escape the airport. 

She flushed, turning toward bag claim. “Yes, sorry, you’re right. I’m Amanda Berry. I’m interning with Sandia Labs and I actually will be one of your assistants. Anything you need, materials, note taker, coffee, I’m your man... or woman.”

Bruce smiled, hoping to get her to relax. “I’m excited to get things started. I’ve been hoping to get the funding for a while and the government came through. Will you be taking us to the university?”

Amanda nodded. “Yes, I have your itinerary. Today, I will bring you to the apartment and let you get settled. It’s a bit hot out, it’s only May but it’s getting warm already. Don’t worry the apartments are kept at a nearly subzero level, get blankets out for night. Tomorrow, you are scheduled to meet with the daycare program and then a meeting to discuss your research. Your supplies are delivered, your housing at UNM is ready, and groceries were picked up this morning, your company car is already at the complex, and the user agreement from Sandia is there too. I also took the liberty of making a list of basic necessities and shortcuts around the city.”

They found their bags quickly and trudged out to the car. Clint sat in the back, nervously looking at the woman up front. Bruce patted his knee. They drove for a while before they pulled into a parking spot just outside a grad residential building. Clint stayed on Bruce’s heels as the man hefted the two huge bags. They had already shipped Bruce’s supplies so it was really just getting their clothes to the apartment at this point. 

Clint was going to sleep on the fold out couch, which he was actually excited about, and Bruce took the only room in the tiny apartment. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Amanda asked, helping to carry Clint’s bag to the second story room. 

The older man nodded. “Yes, do you have a list of local sights and things to see in Albuquerque? Like parks? Zoos? Museums? I can’t let my little guy get bored.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll print one off for you and have it to you tomorrow.”

She nodded and left after an awkward goodbye. Clint flopped down on the couch and smiled at the other man. “I say we order pizza,” Clint advised. 

“No. We have food here and we can eat it. How about some…” Bruce looked in the fridge and frowned. Had they thought they were buying for a frat house? There were tortilla chips, bologna, with no bread, noodles, with no sauce, milk, and five two-liter sodas. There was cereal and crème filled cupcakes to boot. 

Bruce frowned. “How about pizza, Clint?” He ignored the boy’s loud cackle. “It looks like we are going grocery shopping tomorrow. Later, we can start looking around campus for places to eat.”


	3. Chapter 3

The morning brought them all awake and Clint was ready to face the day after a small cup of coffee and cereal. He decided to let Clint eat from the daycare center for the first day, mostly because he had no other option. He was hopeful that the school’s lunch was decent. He followed the school’s directions and made their way to the child development department. 

“Hi,” Bruce said, stepping in with Clint at his back.

“Welcome… Dr. Banner? I’m Miss Becky, we spoke on the phone,” the woman up front started. Bruce nodded. “And you must be Clint? So nice to meet you.” She held out a hand and he hesitantly shook it. 

She and Bruce had talked about Clint’s issues and she was ready to work with him. Clint was the oldest kid in the group by a few years so he would have plenty of interaction but separation from issues with kids his age. He had plenty of schoolwork assigned every day and he would be more of a helper than a student. He frowned a little at the preservative filled lunch but it would do until he could begin making Clint’s lunch and snacks. 

“Did you bring gym clothes for Clint?” the lady asked. “On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we go down to the local gym.”

“Yes, his lunch money is here and everything else is in his backpack. All my contact information is in his backpack, including a cellular phone number.” Bruce had finally broken down and got a mobile phone for Clint to contact him. 

She smiled and welcomed Clint into the main play area. It looked a bit like a preschool but Clint didn’t balk at the babying. He just turned and looked at Bruce as the older man walked away. 

~*~

Bruce found his day fairly boring. The research meeting had gone well and he was more than ready to get home. For the past few months it had essentially just been him and Clint and now they had been separated for a large chunk of the day. 

He missed Sprocket. He felt like he was missing his shadow. 

He walked a bit faster than normal after parking the car and went inside the daycare office. His eyes automatically found Clint hunched over a desk in the corner. There was even a sign over the desk that labeled him “Dr. Banner’s Assistant.”

Clint seemed to sense him after a second and he whipped around, his smile wide. “Bruce!”

“That’s me,” Bruce told him. The boy stuffed his things in his backpack and ran towards him at full tilt, leaping the swinging door barreling into Bruce. 

“Careful... I missed you today, Sprocket,” Bruce offered, patting the boy’s back, squeezing him carefully.

“Me too.”

The women in the front laughed before Miss Becky came out to the front. “I have to tell you Dr. Banner, Clint is a sweetie pie. He was so helpful with the kids and he listened perfectly. You should’ve told me what a little athlete he was.”

Bruce looked at Clint. “What do you mean?”

“He was doing backflips and tumble runs like it was no one’s business. He impressed the instructors at the gym.”

“He did, did he?” Bruce asked. He’d never seen any of Clint’s circus tricks, he’d kind of forgotten that life for him. 

“Yes, he was very impressive. They wanted to know if you’d sign off on some papers so he could use some higher rated equipment. They let him get on the bars a bit but not the real balance beam. When he asked, and you could see he worked up the nerve to do it, they had to say no.”

Bruce’s eyes were wide. “Can I come and visit first? I just want to make sure they’re… safe first.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll talk to the gym managers and set up a date for you to bring Clint in. Maybe this Saturday?” 

~*~

Two days later they walked into the gym, Clint all but bouncing beside him. The gym was quiet, a few dedicated athletes training on Saturday. 

“It’s quieter than it was the other day,” Clint said, looking around. 

“That’s because there’s not fifteen little kids with you.”

A man looked away from the student in front of him and smiled at them. “Clint! Hi, you must be Dr. Banner. I’m Richie.”

He strode forward and held out a hand. He was already talking again even as Bruce shook his hand. “You have a remarkable little boy here. Really quite the athlete. Shaky form but power and balance by the yards. Right, Clint? Sure. If you’ve signed the papers, I’d love to put him up on the high bar and see what he can do. The foam pit is open. Are you comfortable with a high bar, Little C?”

The boy nodded at him. “Okay, great,” Richie said. 

“Wait, wait,” Bruce said. “Clint have you ever been on a high bar.”

“Yes, but not a foam pit. It looks fun.”

This news did not reassure Bruce. “You’re sure this is totally safe?”

Richie nodded. “On the foam the worst that might happen is he will smack the bar. Maybe a bloody nose if he doesn’t straighten out. You can watch him and if you see a problem just call him down.”

Richie had Clint stretch out on his own and Bruce’s jaw about hit the floor when he started to do handstand pushups before resting in what Richie said was a planche, his body straight and eyes forward. Then Clint started to bridge, touching his feet to the ground before pulling back to touch the back of his head. 

“When did you get that flexible?” Bruce asked in wonder. 

The boy pushed up into a handstand so that he could look at Bruce upside down. “I don’t know.”

“Tumbling, warm up, Clint. Nothing heavy,” Richie called. 

Clint stood and quietly started to reach for the ground, before slowly walking over, then he went in the opposite direction. Then he cartwheeled, his movements became looser and more fluid. He started to round off and then flipped once. He planched again before rounding off several times, finishing with a layout. 

After he was fully warmed up, Richie sent Clint over to the high bar where he monkeyed his way out onto the center of the bar. Bruce himself couldn’t even do a pull up and Clint was muscling his way up to rest on the center of the bar. He could see the muscles in Clint’s arms pull underneath his skin. 

The trainer began to have Clint swing and twist before he finally built up the strength to get out in the center of the bar and stand strong overhead before he lost his balance and swung down. Richie coached him to again hold the position before he lost balance and swung down again. He swung up again and paused for a second before falling down his hand came off the bar and he fell into the foam pit. He came up laughing, before climbing back onto the bar. He straightened up a few more times holding for a strong ten seconds before tumbling into the pit at last. 

“Okay, that’s good Clint. I don’t want to wear you out. Why don’t you do some tumbles into the pit?”

After a few minutes Bruce figured out why Clint liked this so much. It was silent, he could work by himself, and he was focused on himself alone. He was amazed at the height the boy could get to power himself into the foam pit, the spinning made Bruce dizzy. On the balance beam Clint actually started to draw attention to himself. He would push onto his hands and hold for a long few minutes before walking over, tucking back into a firm plant.

Unexpectedly he did a very fast round off on the beam, wobbling for second on the landing. A few of the older kids turned and watched as he started into a split handstand, walking over and then bending back into the handstand. His movements were an exercise in minuet control, his position changes slow and fractional. 

When Clint looked around he noticed a few stares and ran towards the end of the beam, flipping to the ground next to Bruce. 

After another half-hour of training, Clint was tired and Richie showed them out. “Clint has some serious skills and I’d like to see him continue to train.”

Bruce nodded, still unsure of the entire idea. 

~*~

Early the next morning Bruce took Clint to the aquarium, it was blessedly empty this early on a Sunday and Clint was able to view and enjoy the fish without the crowds.

“What’s the yellow fish called?”

“Is that a shark?” 

“Can we swim in the tank?”

“Can you show me how to swim?”

“What do the fishes eat?”

“That’s definitely a shark. Doesn’t it eat all the fishes?” 

“Fish is plural and singular?”

“Can we have fish for dinner?... Does fish taste good?”

Bruce sighed as he started to field more and more questions. As Clint’s confidence grew so did his questions. He had started asking an alarming amount of questions over the past few days, anytime he saw something new he wanted to know as much as he could. When they went to see a presentation, Clint quietly whispered in his ear when he had a question. Bruce came up with a hopeful solution. He pulled out one of his notebook pages and passed it to the boy with a pen. 

“Clint, slow down… How about you write down questions and I’ll answer them at lunch?” Clint nodded and began to furiously scribble. Bruce took it as a good lesson, because he could also work on Clint’s spelling and writing. The boy would look up and stare intently at the presenter until he had a thought and then would write a note. 

Clint was an attentive student and Bruce was pleased to see that he listened to more than just Bruce when others spoke. They did end up having fish for lunch but it turned out that Clint did not think fish was very good. 

The boy was just finishing the last third of his fish sandwich when Bruce noticed the pinch at the corner of his lips as Clint took another bite. He finished explaining why sharks were fish and not mammals like whales before asking about Clint’s facial expression.

“Is there a problem?” Bruce asked. Clint shook his head, doggedly taking another bite. 

“Are you full?” he asked again. 

Clint shook his head, then shrugged and pulled the sandwich towards his mouth again. 

Bruce stopped him with a hand. “What’s wrong, Sprocket?”

The boy put the sandwich down. “I don’t like that.”

Bruce laughed, trying not to sound condescending. “If you don’t like it, just tell me. It’s okay if you don’t like some food. As long as you try it once, I’m happy; nobody likes everything.”

“It smells like Barney’s socks and tastes like it too.”

“You tasted your brother’s socks?” Bruce asked with a laugh.

Clint nodded. “He stuffed them into my mouth when I annoyed him.”

Bruce frowned when he realized Clint wasn’t joking. Clint still smiled at him, picking at his fries instead. 

“So why does the cassowary have wings but doesn’t fly?”

Bruce smiled and started to explain.

~*~

They continued on for a few weeks seamlessly, Clint played at the daycare and worked out at the gym. Bruce would pick him up in the afternoon and they did school work or research until bedtime. Over dinner, Clint would pull out his question journal and pepper Bruce with his hypotheses and thoughts. On their third weekend he took Clint out to the Petroglyph National Monument. 

There were miles of land for the little boy to run. He had thought Clint would be even more caught up with the landscape and his questions would be lessened but that didn’t stop him. 

“Is that a centipede?”

“What’s the difference between a centipede and a millipede?”

“Why are there lines in that cliff?”

“How does erosion work?”

“Was there a volcano here?” Clint asked, examining the pattern of fallen rocks. 

Bruce nodded, “Many, many years ago there was a volcanic cone. How did you know?”

“That’s lava rock right? And the explosion spray spreads out from that point. So that means there was a volcano here… Where did the people that drew all these go?”

Bruce sighed again and started to explain.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce hustled from the research lab, buzzing to his car in hopes to pick Clint up before five o’clock. He pulled up outside the five-minute parking and went inside to find Clint. A brightly colored flyer caught his eye and he peered closer. Stapled to a bulletin board was an advertisement for a circus in the area: Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders. It advertised high-flying acrobats, feats of wonder, and magic for all ages. 

He tried to remember the name of Clint’s circus. It couldn’t be the same one. 

Clint jumped up like he did everyday and followed Bruce to the car. Bruce thanked God that his eagle-eyed kid didn’t spot the brightly colored poster over his shoulder. 

That night he sent Clint to shower and he called Jena at her emergency line. He didn’t think it was that important but he wouldn’t sleep well until he had an answer. 

“Bruce? What is it?” Jena asked urgently. 

“Everything is okay,” Bruce started. “Clint’s fine… do you remember the name of Clint’s circus?”

Jena took a minute to look it up before answering. “Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders slash child slavery ring. Why?”

“There’s an advertisement for them… here. In New Mexico.”

The woman was dead silent. “Oh. My… Word. Did Clint see it?”

“No,” Bruce mumbled. What was he going to do? “Should I tell Clint?”

“No,” Jena answered right away. “No, he could go back to them. I mean technically we don’t have charges on them but Clint’s an adolescent and easily convinced. He may follow them automatically.”

He said his goodbyes to Jena and hung up the phone. How was he going to deal with this one?

~*~

On the following Thursday, Bruce strode towards the daycare at four in the afternoon. He pushed open the door but wasn’t hit by the normal weight of Clint. 

Clint was over in the corner staring doggedly down at his paper, unmoving. 

Miss Becky gestured him over. “We just got back from the gym. We left early. I tried to call you but you must have left your phone. While we were working with the trainners some people came in to work out. They knew Clint.”

~*~

Clint stood on his hands, balancing on his head while he watched the daycare kids try to do the same. The warehouse door rolled up and Clint looked over as a group of men and women came in. They shook hands with Richie before beginning to remove their gear and stretch out. Clint saw their forms and froze. 

That was his troupe. That was J.J., Marie, Igor, Lyila, Ilia, Vitaley, and a few of their kids. Part of him wanted to say hi and the other part wanted to find Bruce. He wanted to see Barney but wanted nothing to do with Buck or Jacques. Lyila turned and looked over his group, she squinted at him and then waved. He fell out of his headstand and automatically turned and ran for the wall opposite of them, slipping behind the bleachers. 

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Had they come to find him? Had they just accidentally stumbled upon him? Could he run with them? Should he run off with them? Were they still his family? How would Bruce feel?

Lyila came around the corner of the bleachers and crouched, he considered running again but imagined that wouldn’t go well. 

“Clint, I knew that was you!” she exclaimed. “Hi! How are ya’? Come on out here child!”

Clint shook his head and he sighed in relief when Miss Becky appeared. “Who are you?” she questioned, inserting herself between Clint and Lyila. She reached one hand beneath the bleachers and Clint obediently stood and crawled to stand behind her. 

“I’m… I worked in the circus with Clint before he was taken away. He’s family with us.” She looked past Miss Becky to look at Clint. “Honey, we’ve missed you. Why are you running away from me? Barney will want to see you.”

The blonde was frozen, unable to form an answer, not that Miss Becky gave him the opportunity to form one. She took Clint’s wrist and called to have the kids line up, towing the boy to the door. 

“Clint?” Lyila called after him. “Come see us. We’re performing off of Gibson Avenue. Please. Everyone is worried about you!” Miss Becky was towing him from the room even as the others in the troupe turned to watch him go, waving as they saw him.

Back in the van, heading towards the daycare, Miss Becky made sure to sit next to Clint. “I know they were your… friends for a while but they weren’t good for you. You know that right? You know that Bruce loves you? You know that he would miss you?”

Clint nodded but didn’t say a word. 

They arrived at the daycare and Clint grabbed one of his math books to begin work, thinking. 

~*~

Bruce came over to Clint and crouched by his seat. The boy startled, his head whipping to look at Bruce when his hand covered Clint’s work. 

“Hey, Sprocket.”

“Bruce…” Clint said slowly. He looked like a deer in headlights. 

“I’m here to take you home. Ready?” Bruce decided to avoid the topic and act like this was a normal day until the boy was on steadier ground mentally. 

The preteen grabbed his things and stuffed them in his bag, grabbing the tail of Bruce’s shirt and following him out the door. Bruce didn’t comment on the shirt grabbing, it was something Clint rarely did anymore. 

Once they were home and Bruce was heating lasagna and mixing salad for dinner that he casually asked Clint about his day. 

“I heard you ran in to some people from your old circus today?”

The plastic cup Clint had been setting down clattered as he dropped it and turned to Bruce. He looked apologetic and upset. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce reassured. “It’s okay that you saw them.”

“I didn’t… I tried to hide.”

Bruce sat down next to Clint and pulled the boy over to him, trying to get Clint to look him in the eye. 

“It’s okay that you want to see them. It’s okay… they were your friends. If you want to go see them, I’ll take you. But… please, I don’t want you to leave. I’m worried and a little scared that you’ll leave.”

Clint shook his head, reaching a hand out to touch Bruce, trying to comfort him. “I won’t leave.”

Bruce tugged Clint into a hug. “I know. But sometimes people make decisions they wouldn’t normally make in a situation like this. Sometimes they make a bad decision because it looks like a good one. I’m just scared you’ll leave with them if they talk you into it and I’d never find you again.”

Clint clung to Bruce. “I won’t leave you.” 

“Okay,” Bruce said around a sigh, releasing Clint. “Let’s eat.”

They dug in before Bruce finally asked, “Do you want to go see your friends at the circus? Maybe this weekend?”

Clint looked unsure of himself before reluctantly nodding. 

“Okay,” Bruce agreed. “This weekend. But you have to promise to stay with me the whole time.”

And that was how they found themselves parking outside of a large roped off area, the rides turning, the screams of children, and the low hum of a crowd filled the air as they approached the ticket booth. 

A clown and a gymnast of some sort stood just outside the ticket booth, the clown running around the crowds and the gymnast on a platform contorting and standing on her fingertips around the crowd. 

The clown spotted Clint and ran over, crouching down and looking closely at his face, he put his hands over his own face and jumped and turned once, before miming shooting a bow into the air. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Clint answered the unasked query. The clown crouched and smiled before gesturing for Clint to follow him and sprinting off. 

Clint went to follow but Bruce took his wrist and stopped him, “We have to pay for our ticket.”

Bruce briefly considered just turning around and dragging Clint back to the car but he couldn’t make himself do it. If Clint was already willing to sprint off after a clown, how else could this go badly? 

Bruce paid to get tickets into the carnival and they walked inside. Bruce kept a hand on Clint’s wrist as they walked through the throng of people around them. 

They looked up at a ride called the Zipper. Bruce was nauseated at just the idea. “We are not getting on that.” 

“We used to ride it when they put it together, we tested it when they reassembled it at our stop.”

They had used his kid as a crash test dummy? Bruce felt even sicker at the idea. 

Instead they made their way to the tents where mystics and “freaks” pedaled their wares. 

A woman was there and Clint instantly started talking to her… in Russian? Ukranian? “Доброго дня! Як ти, Ілона?” (Hello, how are you, Ilona?)

“Клінт! Мій маленький хлопчик! Ви тут,” she responded, coming around the table to stand in front of the boy. (Clint! My little boy! You are here!) “You are good?” she asked, switching to English.

“Так. Це моє ... Фостер тато, Bruce!” (Yes. This is my ... foster dad.) Clint smiled and pointed at Bruce. 

She held out a hand to Bruce. “You take care of Clint? He is good, good boy.”

Clint and the woman, Ilona, spoke in rapid fired Ukrainian for a few moments before Clint pointed towards another tent and Bruce walked him over. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Ukranian?” Bruce asked. 

“Oh, I guess I do, can’t write it or nothing, well… a little bit. I speak some other stuff but can’t remember what it is.” He shrugged and entered the next tent.

There was a voluptuous woman with a long thick beard sitting on a stool. She advertised arm wrestling and entertainment outside her tent. 

When Clint came close she waved and greeted Clint with a surprisingly soft and melodic voice. “I heard you were here,” she said by way of greeting. “This your new daddy?”

Once again, they exchanged only a few words before slipping away. As they walked away, Clint’s head was on a swivel looking for someone that wasn’t there. 

They stopped just outside the Big Top when Clint pointed to a trailer in the distance, a horse trailer. “That’s where I slept sometimes. The horses are so nice.”

Without another word the boy tugged him into tent and up a few steps to watch the beginning of the show. As Bruce was waiting for the ringmaster to finish his spiel he thought of the few things he had seen today. None of the circus folks had touched Clint, not one pat of affection, not a hug, no stroking his hair, nothing. Clint had gone years between being hugged and cuddled like a kid should be. 

Bruce was kind of shocked that the legendary Barney hadn’t shown up yet, although he expected it of Buck and Jacques. Clint still hadn’t said much about the men but what he had mentioned was nothing short of an abusive relationship. He hadn’t said anything damning yet but the men were not outlined as kind teachers. 

He kind of hoped Barney was like Clint, misunderstood, abused, and untrusting. An uneasy feeling had settled into Bruce about Clint’s brother though, he had abused Clint as badly as some others. Yes, he had taken the boy out of the foster home but had he really put him in a better life?

About halfway through the show, Bruce felt Clint turn to look beneath the bleachers, before easily slipping between the slats and onto the floor beneath the bleachers. He could just see the blonde of Clint’s hair in the light but the rest of the area was dark. 

Bruce turned and hopped over the side of the bleachers, jogging to a break in the sheet covering the bleacher stands, the area was empty. He yelled for Clint anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Abuse of a child (not by Bruce). Mild foul language.

Clint felt a poke at his heel and then a yank on his pants. He turned to look between the seat and floor, he could see the bright green of Barney’s eyes and he grinned. He gestured for Barney to come and sit with him. Both Barney and Clint had maneuvered their ways in and out of the bleachers for years and were adept and moving silently from the stands to the backstage with ease. 

Barney shook his head and beckoned him down. He wouldn’t be far from Bruce and he could still see Bruce’s feet. He turned and swung slid between the wooden slats to land on the floor. Almost before he had straightened up Barney was dragging him from beneath the bleachers and back towards the staging area. 

“Barney! Bruce! I can’t leave,” he urged, trying to stop his brother. 

The teenager, nearly a man, rounded on him. “Yes, you can. I thought you were my brother?” Barney shook him once, forcing him to pay attention. 

Clint was scared, he tried to stop moving but Barney was stronger than he remembered, easily dragging Clint. And unless the blonde wanted to eat dirt he had no option but to keep his feet under him. 

He turned to pleading. “Please, Barney. He will miss me.”

“He’s a perv. Grown men don’t take care of little boys for no reason,” Barney told him, dragging Clint to the fence. “I’m going to get you out of here. We’ll lay low for a few days. Buck and Jacques have some jobs for us. Then we can come back to the circus once they’ve moved on.”

Clint shook his head. “No, he’s not a… a perv! Please, I have to stay with Bruce.”

There was a break in the fence and Clint was shoved through, he was frozen as Barney followed him through once again. 

“I’m your family, Clint. Just because that guy has bought you a few shirts and fed you a few times doesn’t make him your family. You’re still my brother. We gotta go. We gotta get out ‘fore the cops come looking.”

Clint considered running from Barney but he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to get lost or Barney would catch him and he would beat him. He decided to keep up with the teenager instead and wait for something, a way to get back to Bruce, to his home. 

They ran into a residential area just outside the empty field, Barney found a car, popped the door and hot-wired the engine before pushing Clint inside and driving away. Clint felt like he had for years before meeting Bruce, high-strung and jumpy. All the time he had spent with Barney had made him anxious about being in public, always afraid the cops were going to come for him. 

He stuffed his emotions inside a box, holding them still and silent within himself. They drove out onto the freeway and Clint wondered when Barney had gotten his driver’s license. He pulled on his seat belt and hung on as they whipped onto the freeway. 

Clint looked over his shoulder, hoping upon hope that he would see Bruce’s little white sedan following them. 

~*~

Bruce ran out the tent entrance, trying to spot Clint before he went too far. Where was his kid? 

He ran to the main office, a dumpy trailer just to the side of the circus. “Where is Barney Barton?” he demanded of the gathered people. They looked at each other and shrugged. 

“I need a phone,” he tried. 

“We don’t have no phone,” a rough looking man replied. 

“Where the hell is the nearest one then?” Bruce growled. 

They shrugged in answer. Bruce circled the tent once but he didn’t see Clint, he instead took off and ran to a pay phone across the street at a mini-mart. When dispatch answered his call he could only say one thing.

“My son was just kidnapped.”

When the police arrived Bruce had worked himself up to a frothy mix of anger and fear. He had demanded the circus search for Clint but had been barred every step of the way. He prayed Clint was still on property and just being hidden away. 

The police were understandably confused at Bruce’s explanation of the situation at hand. His son was his foster kid, he was a 23 year old visiting PhD physics prodigy at Sandia Labs. His foster son used to be with the circus but now he lived with Bruce. It was a coincidence that they had been in the same area and he had taken Clint. Now he didn’t know where Clint was but suspected he was taken by his teenage brother still illegally working at the circus. 

And no, Clint had not run away. The boy had promised not to do it. Yes, he had believed Clint. Yes, he understood a lot of foster kids ran away. Clint was not like a lot of foster kids. Yes, Clint was categorized as special needs and emotionally disturbed but he wasn’t insane. No, he was not a danger to himself or others. No, they were not having problems at home. 

“Please, just help me find my son!” Bruce shouted impatiently, after answering thirty minutes worth of questions. 

The police, with Bruce behind them, had scoured the circus but had not managed to find Clint. It was now embarking on ten at night and Bruce had a feeling of absolute terror. He clutched at the sweatshirt he had brought for Clint, the days were hot in New Mexico but it cooled in the evening. Clint got cold easily. 

God, did he really run away? Or was he stolen like Bruce knew in his gut? Where were they taking his kid? He bent over his folded hands and prayed. 

~*~

“Barney?” Clint asked, looking over at his brother. “I gotta go back to Bruce. I’m going to get in trouble.”

Barney spit on the floor at his feet. “Don’t be a pussy, C. I told you, you’re going to be with me. I’m your family. Not that bitch… Is he rich?” 

Clint shook his head. “No. He’s very smart though.”

“How do you even talk to him then? You’re a retard, little C!” 

“Bruce says I’m not!” Clint argued. He should’ve expected the pop to the mouth when he spoke back to his older brother but he was still a bit surprised when his head bounced off the car window. He hadn’t been hit in a while. He swallowed the blood that pooled in his cheek and held the watering in his eyes in check. 

They drove for over an hour until they pulled off the highway and parked on a side road. Barney wiped his prints from the car, including Clint’s before starting to walk, Clint ran to keep up. 

It was really cold out, considering how hot it had been this afternoon. His short sleeve shirt wasn’t keeping him warm anymore. He was hungry too. Bruce had fed him lunch, then had promised to take him for burgers and milkshakes after the circus. Now he was really hungry, a feeling he hadn’t had to deal with in a few months but he was still familiar with. 

“Barn? You got any food?” Clint asked, it was very dark now and he was hopeful. 

Barney shook his head. “’Course I don’t. Do I look like McDonald’s to you?”

They walked for a couple of hours before they walked up to a small, dirty hotel. Barney kept a firm hand on his arm as he dragged him upstairs to a room, inside was Buck, drinking. 

Buck looked at Clint like Barney had just dragged a pile of dog poop across his carpet. “Why’d you get your little runt? Just needed you!” 

Clint shrunk behind Barney, silent. “I need him,” Barney grunted. “He’s a good gopher… Get my bag.” 

Clint obediently snatched up the bag, pulling it over his shoulder. He looked into one of the other bags. It was filled with jewelry, wooden boxes, and some leather jackets. 

“Keep your eyes out of there,” Buck said, swatting him on the back hard enough to make the sound echo in the room. Clint’s eyes watered but he didn’t even groan as he clutched the bag and went towards the door. 

“Jacques’ truck is downstairs, you know what it looks like. Go toss that in there then get back here,” Barney ordered, giving Clint a chance to gather himself. Clint trudged downstairs and tossed the bag in the back of the truck, he went back to the bottom step and considered the long walk back up the two flights of stairs before realizing he could go. He looked up and nobody was looking out the still open door. He could go. Right now.

And he ran. 

All he could hear was the pounding of his heart and what he swore was the faint screeching of tires as Barney came after him. He stopped at a house down the road and hid in the bushes while he caught his breath. He had no idea where he was and no idea how to get back home but he was at least free now. He could find Bruce.

~*~

It was past one in the morning when Bruce finally heard a faint call across the nearly empty police station. It came again louder and Bruce looked up. 

“We got a call from the missing kid!” a young police officer said, running up the stairs. “Dispatch just called, they’re relaying it up here.”

The officer that was in charge of Clint’s case looked over at Bruce and bid him to be silent or he would have to leave. Then he picked up the phone when it started to ring, “Hello? Can you tell me who this is?”

“Hello?” Clint’s voice came over the line and Bruce’s head fell to the table in relief. He tried not to cry. Clint was okay.

“Yes, this is Detective Reynolds with the police. Can you tell me your name?”

“Clint… Barton. I’m lost. My dad… he might be looking for me. Can you find him?”

Bruce forced himself to stay quiet. “I’ll get your dad. Okay, Clint, do you see a store where you are? Or a restaurant?” 

The phone scratched for a second. “There is a bar and but everything else is closed… Can you call my foster dad? His name is Bruce Banner.”

“Okay, Clint, you stay on the phone and we already have a police car coming to pick you up. It’s going to have lights on it and they’ll pick you up and bring you here. Don’t hang up this phone, okay?”

“’Kay.” 

The officer nodded at Bruce. “And guess what? Your dad is here.”

Clint didn’t answer but the phone scratched. “Hey, Clint,” Bruce said trying to sound calm. “Are you okay, Sprocket?”

“Yeah,” Clint’s voice broke. “I want to come home, can you come get me?” 

“The police officer is going to be there quicker than I can but I’ll be here when you get back. I’m just waiting on you.”

Clint’s breath shuddered but he still talked on. “I didn’t want to leave. I promise.”

“I know, Sprocket. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m hungry. And I’m cold.”

Bruce let out a breath. Clint was okay. “You’ll get food when you’re here and I have your sweatshirt right here. Just go with the police. They’ll take you to me. Please, come home.”

“The police guy is here.” They could hear a car door opening and closing. 

“Don’t hang up!” Bruce said urgently. 

There was some intelligible mumblings and the phone seemed to change hands.

“This is Office Danvers with the Santa Fe Police Department, who is this?”

“Detective Reynolds with the Albuquerque Police Department. What are your orders to do with the boy?”

“I’m under orders to take him to the station, if he’s not injured and then shuttle him to an unmarked car to take him back to an Albuquerque hospital for a complete check.”

The detective nodded. “Sounds great. Can you put the boy back on the phone?”

“Bruce?” 

“Clint, this is Detective Reynolds again, what’s going to happen is they are going to take you to a different car and then they are going to drive you back here to the hospital. Bruce will be there to see you.”

“I’m waiting for you to get here, Clint,” Bruce reassured him once more. “Just do what the officer says and you’ll be home soon.”


	6. Chapter 6

Clint climbed into the warm car and felt his eyes start to close as the rocking of the car and the stress of the day got to him. His eyes slid closed and soon he was asleep. He must have been moved because he awoke in a different car with a different driver. He only awoke when someone opened his door and he came awake as a smiling nurse put her hand on his arm. 

“Come on inside, Clint.” She took his hand and led him inside and into the kid’s section of the hospital. There were three unoccupied beds of the room… and Bruce.

“Bruce!” he rushed at the other man and bowled into him, Bruce picked him up so that he could lay his head on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“I missed you,” Clint said quietly, clinging. 

“I missed you too, Sprocket. It scared me.” He held Clint close and breathed in his familiar smell and hugged his weight. 

He set Clint on one of the nearby beds and a nurse quickly approached to take his blood pressure. 

“Where was that from?” The nurse said, her gloved hands moving his face. There was a shade of blue on the left side of his face, highlighting his cheekbone. 

Clint shrugged, looking at his feet. 

“Words,” Bruce chided gently.

“Barney gave me a smack. I’m okay.”

The nurse nodded and looked in his mouth. 

“Dr. Banner? If we can talk to you outside for a minute?”

Bruce nodded and looked over at Clint, “I’ll be right outside the window.” 

He stood and followed the officer outside, there was a woman waiting for him. He had hoped they weren’t going to do this but knew it was likely coming. 

“Hi, Dr. Banner. I’m Mrs. Alvina with Child Services here. I’ve talked to Jenna and made her aware of the situation. We honestly don’t think you had anything to do with this but it’s standard policy to remove Clint from your care until this can be fully examined.”

“I know, I understand, but Clint… Clint is going to be very upset. He doesn’t handle things like this well. Is there anyway to speed the process?”

She nodded gently. “We’ll interview Clint fully tomorrow morning and I have detectives scheduled to investigate tomorrow afternoon. With any luck we’ll have him in front of a judge Monday and back to you Monday. I’d like your help examining him and then explaining him the hospital stay. After speaking with Jenna and the pediatric ward we will keep him here until Monday. We don’t want to make this whole situation worse by funneling him to a foster home or group home.”

Bruce nodded reluctantly. It was going to kill him to have to leave Clint again. Clint was hopefully going to hold it together. Bruce would make sure he brought Clint some things to keep him occupied while he was gone. 

They walked back into the room where Clint was sitting, letting the nurse take off his filthy shoes. 

“How did your shoes get so dirty?” Bruce asked, frowning at the once red shoes now turned a rusty brown. 

Clint frowned at his shoes. “We had to walk in the dirt until we got to the hotel.”

The detective stepped in then. “What did the hotel look like?”

“It had three stories, I had to walk up all of them. And the walls were pink, kind of tan pink.”

“Were there any buildings along the way?”

Clint tugged Bruce’s hand over to him, playing with the watch around his wrist. “I… Yeah. There was one that said “Girls, Girls, Girls” on the outside and had a cowboy girl on the sign. They had beer. It was number 1160. The hotel was 1124.”

Detective Reynolds scribbled that down. “You know the numbers? What about the street name?”

“Where is a street name?”

“It’s usually on a green sign, Clint. It’s high up and usually with the red lights and stop signs,” Bruce explained.

The blonde nodded, “Yeah. I saw that. It said Ninth Street, we walked across Ninth Street where the girls were. The hotel was Briiiellen? Brillen? Beerenlli? It was B-R-E-E-L-Y-N Hotel. They were in room 339. Buck was driving a big truck, blue with a white stripe. The sign on the back is from Nebraska, L783BGN.”

The detective furiously wrote down all the information. “How do you remember this?”

“Clint has an… extraordinary memory,” Bruce answered. 

The doctor strode into the room then. “Can I have everyone out but my patient and his father?”

Bruce smiled when he was referred to as Clint’s father. Bruce was patient as they pulled the curtain and Clint stripped and sat on the end of the bed. The doctor and he noticed the hand shaped bruise right away. It was bright red and each finger was outlined, turning blue around some areas. The hand that had made the mark was large, covering one shoulder and edging towards his ribs. That was one hell of a mark. 

Silently the doctor took a few photos before having Clint turn and show his body, asking him anywhere he might’ve been struck and if they had touched him in any places. Bruce himself was angry and upset that someone had laid a hand on Clint again. 

Clint was getting dressed and they were bringing in food when the woman from Children’s Services came back in. 

He decided to nip the problem in the butt, hoping Clint wouldn’t melt down if Bruce was the one to tell him he was leaving. 

“Clint? You’re going to stay here for a day or two, okay? Just until they know you’re okay. I’ll bring you some puzzles tomorrow okay?”

Clint did not look pleased at this news. “I have to stay here? Are you staying?”

Bruce shook his head. “I can’t but I’ll come see you. And I’ll tell the daycare you’ll be back on Tuesday okay. I promise, I’ll come take care of you as soon as I can. They just have to make sure you’re okay and healthy before you can come home with me.”

“But I’m fine!” Clint argued, reaching for Bruce’s hands and tugging. “Please, let me go home.”

Bruce put Clint’s face between his palms, making them nearly nose to nose. “You’ll be okay. You’re right next door to our house. You can probably see our house from your window if you look out the right one. I’ll be by to make sure you’re okay and you’ll be allowed to call me, whenever you want. I know you’re sad and I’ll be sad without my best friend but we will be okay.”

“I’m your best friend?” Clint asked. 

Bruce nodded. “Of course, you’re my Sprocket. You make my life interesting.”

“I think you were pretty bored before I was around,” Clint muttered darkly. 

Bruce laughed and hugged him tight for a half second before letting him go. 

“I’ll bring some of your puzzles tomorrow but not all of them because you’re going to be home soon…”

“Can I have my Nerf gun?” Clint asked, a sparkle in his eyes. 

Bruce shook his head, giving him a raised eyebrow and a smile. “No. The nurses would not like you armed with a weapon. Eat all of your food and I’ll see you soon, Sprocket.”

He spent a few more moments reassuring Clint that he would be back and convincing him to eat his dinner. “I love you, Sprocket. I will see you tomorrow.” Clint nodded and picked at his food as Bruce left. 

“You are really good with him,” one of the nurses said. 

“You are,” Mrs. Alvina agreed. “You can have some time to visit him tomorrow. Not long. If you are willing, bring him some clothes, hospital policy only allows for sweats and t-shirts. I’m sure the police and my people will want to speak to you tomorrow after Clint’s interview.”

Bruce was once more by himself as he opened his apartment door and he didn’t like it. 

A few short blocks away, there was a little boy feeling the same way. 

~*~

Bruce did have to talk to the police, the next morning and listened as they recounted Clint’s tale of the previous night. 

They had found the hotel but the teenager and men had already left, there was an APB out on the truck but they didn’t have much hope of tracking the men, especially once they left the state. The FBI had gotten briefly involved but after learning Clint was the kidnapper’s brother it became considered a custodial dispute and they weren’t going to pursue it. 

On Monday, Bruce ended his day extra early and went to the court, waiting impatiently as they brought Clint in and sat him down with his guardian ad litem, the police detective, and child services representative. Clint turned and waved at him over his shoulder while they waited for their turn. 

Court proceedings were routine, a lawyer took Clint’s folder, gestured them all up and were introduced to the court. 

“These proceedings are in place to discuss the return of Clinton Francis Barton to his foster father, Robert Bruce Banner of Massachusetts.”

“Tell me a story, counselor,” the judge intoned. 

The counselor gestured to Clint. “The boy, Clint, is here visiting New Mexico with his foster father, Bruce Banner. Clint had previously been a member of a circus troupe before it was discovered he was working there without a guardian and had run away from his orphanage. Clint was placed with Bruce Banner under extenuating circumstances, mostly injury and malnutrition, and has moved to take care of Clint in the long term. My understanding is Bruce Banner brought Clint to the circus to let him say hello to his former family. His biological brother subsequently took him from the circus and his guardian by force. Mr. Banner did everything in his power to get his son back as soon as possible, going through all the possible steps. It was confirmed by Mr. Barton that he did not want to leave Mr. Banner. After consulting a child services representative from New Mexico, Mr. Barton’s current social worker in Boston, and the records, it’s the opinion of the state that Mr. Barton be returned to Mr. Banner.”

“The circus?” the judge asked incredulously, looking to Clint.

Clint nodded. 

The judge shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it all. “Can Mr. Banner please step into the forum?” 

Bruce rushed up and stood beside the collapsible table that served as the prosecution’s table. “I’m Dr. Bruce Banner… your honor.”

“Awfully young, DOCTOR Banner?”

Bruce nodded twice. “I received my PhD from MIT last year and am here as a visiting researcher at Sandia Labs. I know I’m younger but I’ve been fostering for a few years now and I’ve been taking care of Clint since October of last year, after he broke his arm and had to recover from malnutrition and surgery.”

The judge’s eyes flicked to Clint. “He looks pretty good to me.” The judge flicked through Clint’s case file for a few silent minutes. “What say you Mr. Barton? This is your chance to say no… do you want to go back to Dr. Banner?”

Clint nodded. 

“Why?” the judge asked, sitting forward. 

Clint shrugged, looking at Bruce before starting to talk. “He’s nice. He feeds me good food, even if he won’t let me eat fast food a lot. He takes me places and answers all my questions, ‘cause he’s super smart. And he’s teaching me... Please, I want to go home.”

“Is there any back up to the idea that maybe Mr. Barton ran away? Or is being abused?” the judge asked, looking towards the adults beside Clint. 

“None, your honor. Clint’s home life is a bit unusual but we’ve found Clint’s entire life has been a bit unusual. Dr. Banner appears to be the ideal placement for Clint Barton. We consulted with Clint’s therapist and he concludes that removing Clint from Dr. Banner’s care would only harm Clint. It’s not in the best interest of the child. He does not suspect any abuse and sees this entire event as an unfortunate happening.”

The judge nodded. “All right. I’m convinced. In pursuant with the recommendations of, well, everybody, Clinton Francis Barton will be returned to the custody of his foster father, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. Next!”

Clint climbed over two chairs and buried his face in Bruce’s shirt. “Thank you, your honor,” Bruce said, trying to gracefully exit with a tiny eleven-year-old hanging off him. 

The judge waved him off as he staggered out through the double doors and into the hallway with Clint. He let Clint calm down for a few minutes before peeling him off of himself. 

“Do you want to get some dinner or go home?”

Bruce signed some papers that were pushed into his hands while he let Clint think. The social worker took the papers and stuffed them in his briefcase. 

The social worker pointed at Clint’s discharge papers. “The nurses said Clint was coming down with a cold, probably from the long walk without adequate clothing. They said juice and rest, bring him in if he starts to have a bad cough and take his temperature daily.” Bruce absorbed the information, shaking hands with the social worker as he left. 

Clint yanked on his arm, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Can we get food and eat at home? You said I could have a burger and a milkshake on Saturday.” 

Bruce sighed but nodded, just happy to have Clint home, even if he was filled with hospital food, soon to be junk food, and in the process of a cold. 

Bruce couldn’t stand parking Clint outside a place so managed to find a roadside stand that brought him milkshakes, burgers, and fries to the car. They got home and Clint sighed as he kicked off his shoes and snuggled into his spot on the couch. 

“When did you shower last?” Bruce asked, plating their burgers and fries. 

“This morning… the nurse said I needed to smell good but their shampoo smelled funny so I used the soap instead.”

Bruce smothered a laugh. “Come eat.”

The two stuffed themselves full of greasy burgers and milkshakes. They watched a cartoon and Clint was nearly asleep against him. Thunder rolled outside and lightning flashed in the distance but the boy seemed unaware. He gently woke Clint from his late evening nap and hustled him into a shower. He quickly trimmed Clint’s hair a bit and managed to snag him long enough to clip his nails. The boy squirmed while Bruce held his hands and clipped, he giggled while Bruce clipped his toenails, laughing when Bruce’s fingers stroked his instep. 

“Okay, one scoop of ice cream and time to hit the hay,” Bruce cajoled. Clint dug into the ice cream before climbing onto his couch-bed and curling under the covers, until all you could see was a tuft of blond hair as lightning lit the room, despite the shades. 

Bruce pulled the blankets up to Clint’s shoulders and smiled at the boy one more time before turning down the lights. He puttered around the kitchen cleaning up and folding clean laundry on the kitchen table before giving in and going to bed himself.


	7. Epilogue

That night he woke to a chill, a feeling he got when something was wrong, he hated calling it “father’s instinct” because his father had certainly never had it and Clint’s hadn’t either but it was what it was. He listened and heard no noise, besides the low rumbling of thunder, sitting up he felt a warm weight near his foot, he peered into the darkness and saw a blurry expanse of green with blonde hair. 

Clint. 

He was curled on his side, trying to be as small as possible. It was too cool to be sleeping without blankets in the chilly apartment. Bruce set the temperatures as low as possible. 

“Clint? Sprocket? Are you okay?” he kneeled on the bed and brushed Clint’s arm. 

The boy sat up, blearily staring around before his eyes locked on Bruce’s face. 

“Sorry,” was the first word out of his mouth. He rubbed a hand over his face and nearly fell off the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked again, sagging. The spike in anxiety had woken him up but now that the panic had passed he could barely stop himself from closing his eyes and laying down again. Instead he reached out a hand to stop Clint from climbing off the bed. 

Clint shrugged, pulling his arms inside his t-shirt. 

“Words, Clint,” Bruce reminded, yawning. 

“I… it was… I wanted to be around you and it was too cold to sleep on the floor… I thought you would stay asleep. Sorry.”

Bruce smiled at him, blinking hard. “It’s okay, next time bring your blanket, too cold, stay here.”

Bruce was honestly too tired to find out what exactly was going on but he stumbled out of the bedroom door and ripped the top cover off of the foldout couch and came back. He whipped the blanket to make it cover the whole bed and tossed a pillow to the top. He waved at Clint to climb onto it then folded it over the boy, making a Clint sandwich. Then he took a blanket from beneath the bed and laid it over Clint and his pile. 

He climbed back onto the bed, now only taking up half the bed and closed his eyes. “Don’t snore,” he murmured before drifting off again. 

He awoke to a foot in his face, somehow in the night Clint had shuffled the blankets into a nest like pile and most of his limbs were hidden except the encountered foot. His head was nearly off the bed and his body curled on his pillow. As gently as he could, he moved the foot off of him and climbed to his feet.

Grumbling fondly he stumbled to his feet and got the coffee started in the kitchen. He fiolded Clint’s bed back, grabbed a coffee and settled down to the morning news. Clint joined him a minute later, he didn’t say a word, just dragged his blanket with him to the couch and curled up against Bruce’s side, unusually quiet. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, wrapping an arm around Clint’s middle. 

The boy shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. 

“Okay,” he rubbed Clint’s back for a few minutes and smiled as the boy leaned heavily against him. He was happy that Clint was at least using his therapists advice about breathing away his stress. He was starting to believe that Clint would be better off on medication. 

“Am I crazy?” Clint asked out of the blue about ten minutes later. 

Bruce took a deep breath before answering. “No, odd but not crazy. What made you think you were crazy?”

“I had to stay at a hospital, I wasn’t sick or hurt. Only crazy people stay at hospitals if they’re fine. It’s for their own safety,” he added sagely. 

Bruce nodded. “Did you have a bad time at the hospital?”

Clint shook his head. “I was lonely but the people were nice. I was… worried you wouldn’t come back.”

He pushed Clint back but kept a hand on his back and another hand on his face. “Look at me, I will promise you now. I will never leave you. I’m never going to let you go. Sometimes we might have to be apart but I promise to come get you when I can.” 

Clint nodded, snuggling back into his pile of blankets. 

“’Love you, Bruce,” Clint said quietly. 

“I love you, too,” Bruce confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more written. Like A LOT... I actually wrote it before I wrote this part. I'm very excited to share it. This is barely the half way point. :D 
> 
> I actually fast forward through a bit of their lives but if another young Clint thought pops up I'll back up and insert. ;)
> 
> Woo hoo!!!!


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